


misunderstandings

by cranes



Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2016-02-16
Packaged: 2018-05-21 03:25:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6036061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cranes/pseuds/cranes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Dad? When I grow up, I hope I have a cool spear like Mom."</p><p>At the words, Greg's heart sinks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	misunderstandings

“Dad? When I grow up, I hope I have a cool spear like Mom.”

At the words, Greg’s heart sinks.

Steven is four. Steven has been four for a month and a half, and he can talk a mile a minute and count all the way to forty-seven. He can skip and jump and sing and dance and even swim with Amethyst in shallow water. And Greg’s been trying his best, and he knows Pearl has, too, and _man_ is he grateful because without her they’d have dishes stacked up to the ceiling and dirty laundry pouring out of every orifice of their small townhouse.

But Steven is four, and there are some things hard for four-year-olds to understand.

It’s not like they  _haven’t_ told him about Rose. There’s a few pictures hanging around, a handful of her things (seashells, dropped pennies, bottlecaps; Rose loved to collect what humans left behind). He’s told Steven a few stories (it gets easier to hide the break in his voice as time passes), played him a few albums (the first time Steven heard the van song, he wailed in fear—Greg’s tried not to take it too hard).

He’s even taken him to some of Rose’s favourite places. But last week they came across a bit of a stumbling block—still scheduled in Pearl’s flowing cursive on the calendar, titled neatly, ‘ _Playdate with PeeDee_ ’.

Here’s the difference between Steven and PeeDee: right now, PeeDee still has a mom.

…

The hard part isn’t even telling Steven that she’s gone. (Even though Pearl’s eyes still blur at the thought, even though Amethyst’s lips still tremble, even though Garnet’s face still turns to stone and the silence she leaves in her wake fills the room like a creeping, grey smoke). Steven _understands_ ‘gone’; ‘gone’ like Sadie’s dad, like Buck Dewey’s mom. Steven even understands ‘dead’, as much as a four-year-old can—the Pizzas lost their mom just last spring.

What Steven _doesn’t_ understand: not-gone, not-dead, half-life, shared existence.

 _Pearl should talk to him,_ Greg thinks, and at the same moment knows she’s not _going_ to talk to him. She’s not ready now. Maybe none of them are.

_Definitely not me._

But there's a resilience in Greg and it holds, and late that night he pulls out the pictures, and the seashells, and the bottlecaps. He sits Steven on his lap and holds him in his arms.

“Steven?” he says, pointing. “This is your mom.”

“Pretty,” Steven says, and laughs.

He’s said it before, but Greg’s heart still swells at the word, so he grips Steven tighter and clears his throat before speaking again. “Yes, pretty,” Greg agrees, “and brave, and kind. And funny! Hey, did I ever tell you about the time…”

He tells a few stories, gets a few giggles, and Steven listens attentively like he will for nothing else (except possibly _The_ _Wiggles,_ Greg swears the kid's in love). By the fourth story Greg hears a creak on the steps and knows Pearl is sitting there, half-hidden in the shadows.

It happens sometimes. Greg’s half-convinced the rake-like gem has some sort of Rose Quartz-radar. At any mention of Rose, Pearl can be trusted to be either within a few feet of the conversation, or hundreds of miles away.

Sometimes, Greg envies the ability.

Steven notices her.

“Mom!” he cries, giggling, and for a solid moment, Greg can’t breathe, because _what’s she going to do? What’s she going to say? Does she realize what dangerous territory this is? Does she understand the damage that could be done? She’s just a gem, he’s a_ human _, she can’t know—_

Pearl stands, straightens her clothes. “Pearl,” she corrects, gazing at Steven solemnly. Steven nods.

With careful precision, he points to Greg’s picture of Rose. “Mom,” he repeats. Greg is suddenly filled with understanding.

Steven is four years old, and he knows who his dad is, he knows who his mom is. He _understands_ the bottlecaps and the seashells and the flowing pink hair, the kind eyes, the soft skin. What Steven doesn’t understand is far simpler. He doesn’t understand _Pearl._ He doesn’t understand _Amethyst._ He doesn’t understand _Garnet._ Greg laughs inwardly at the realization, the clarity an aching heat in his throat. Of course he doesn’t understand! How could they ever have expected him to? Steven is four years old.

Steven shifts in Greg’s arms, and a wide smile full of crooked baby teeth spreads across his face. He points at Pearl.

“Mom,” he says again. The clarity in Greg’s throat coils into a tight lump.

Steven doesn’t understand; Steven understands far, far more than Greg will ever allow himself to admit.

Pearl comes to stand beside them, lowering herself so that she’s at eye-level with Steven. There’s a faint sense of shock at the sight—Greg has never seen her try to look through anyone’s eyes but her own. As he watches, she holds out her hand, and Steven’s eyes widen at the crumpled piece of paper between her fingers.

“Wassat?” he inquires curiously.

“I found it in Amethyst’s room,” Pearl tells him. “It’s an invitation to a baby shower.”

Steven laughs. “You can’t put babies in the shower!”

“No, Steven. A baby shower is a party humans have when someone is going to have a baby.”

“Like a birthday party?”

“Yes, like a birthday party.”

Greg’s mind is spinning. He has no idea what Pearl is up to, what she’s thinking, why she went to the trouble of saving a tattered invitation from Amethyst’s junk pile. He parts his lips, but something in the look on Pearl’s face keeps him from commenting.

“This baby is going to be born in March. Do you know when that is, Steven?”

Steven’s nose wrinkles as he tries to think. “No,” he answers with raw honesty.

“It’s about a month from now. Would you like to go?”

“Yes!” is Steven's immediate reply, though he clearly has no understanding of what it is he’s agreeing to. Greg has to smile at the excitement in his son’s eyes. “Will there be kids at the party?” Steven asks, faintly hopeful.

“Maybe. There’s a boy named Sour Cream. When the baby is born, he will be the baby’s brother.”

“Who will be the baby’s sister?”

“The baby doesn’t have a sister. Not yet, anyway.”

“I will be the baby’s sister,” Steven decides firmly. He frowns. “Who will be the baby’s father?”

“One of the fishermen who works at the docks. His name is Yellowtail.”

“And who will be the baby’s mothers?”

Greg catches his breath. But there’s no panic in Pearl’s face, no dread at Steven’s misunderstanding like the kind Greg feels in his heart. “The baby will only have one mother,” she tells Steven calmly. "She is a friend of Amethyst's." Steven’s face twists, trying desperately to grasp what Pearl is saying with all the power of his four-year-old brain.

“Well—well, who will be the baby’s Garnet, Amethyst, and Pearl, then?”

If Greg squints hard enough, he swears he can see the shadow of a smile on Pearl’s face. “I don’t know. Perhaps his brother Sour Cream. Maybe an aunt, or an uncle. Maybe even you. I’m sure he’ll find someone to look up to in this town.”

“Someone who loves him like you do?”

Pearl startles; Greg bites his lip at the scalding innocence of the question. He knows how strange the concept of love is to Pearl—she still has trouble admitting her love for Rose, even after thousands of years. He doesn’t know the whole story behind it, but he knows enough to understand that love isn’t a thing Pearls are supposed to be allowed to feel. Loyalty, yes: he saw that in her the moment she set eyes on Steven. But she’s never said the words. Maybe she’s afraid to.

 _Please,_ he thinks to himself.  _Let yourself love him._

Pearl hesitates, and then slowly, she nods, letting her fingers fall to tangle in the wisps of Steven’s hair. “Yes,” she says softly. “Just like that.”

Steven nods, taking into careful consideration everything Pearl has told him. He reaches up and covers her hand with his own.

“Pearl? When I grow up, I hope I have a cool spear like you.”

* * *

 

_fin_


End file.
